Single Shots of Bleach
by Aspect of Second
Summary: Random One-Offs, as the title might indicate. Character focuses will probably be more towards Ichigo, Rukia, the Kurosaki's, Byakuya, the Shiba, and the Karakura Crew, assuming more than one gets posted, as I find them to be more interesting. I ship IchiRuki, so there's that, too. Prompts welcomed. All further bulletins as events warrant.


**Type :: One-Shot  
Prompt :: Sleep  
Characters: Rukia, Ichigo**

In Rukongai, how you slept spoke volumes.

Those of noble birth - of luck - slept in a thoughtful way - dedicated rooms, dedicated beds of purposeful design. Warm, soft, safe, waited upon by servants who opened sliding doors to let in the light of morning, who went to bed with a nightcap and turned down sheets. It was an unremarkable part of the day, a bit of comfortable habit, but it simply was, and for that reason, was only remarked upon when accommodations were not to standard. It was a sliding scale from there, and as the ward number went higher, the comfort went lower.

A successful merchant of the 10th Ward might settle for plain silk futon over a rich brocaded masterwork. A senior official of the 20th might trade silk for more economical quality cotton. A 30th Ward tradesman might opt for thick wool blankets over a cotton stuffed mattress in a private bedroom, while a 40th Ward worksman might decide to lay futon in the common area near the cooking pit, valuing the warmth and economy of space over the luxury of a dedicated room. In the 45th ward, a mattress might be stuffed with barley, at least cool during the summer, if not so warm in the winter, and fuel tended to be plentiful enough. In the 50th ward, materials became more varied - maybe poor quality stuffing for the cushions, with blankets becoming coarse and scratchy. But dedicated space could still be made even if rooms became dual purpose, or gave way to bunks and barracks. A body could still lie out and have a predictable to rest their head.

But as the ward number spun higher still, that surety vanished for the majority of their inhabitants, though throwbacks to higher standards could certainly be found among the powerful. But for most - maybe there were no tatami to lay a futon down upon, maybe there was no futon at all. Thick blankets piled high over beds of straw, common areas for sleeping around a shared hearth, pooling fuel and body heat in the cold times.

By the 75th ward, the tools of sleep of sleep were frequently discarded, the unfortunates instead shifting focus to simple location - out of the rain, out of the wind, and out of trouble. A shared home, a flop house, A blanket or cloak, a dry spot, a place to call one's own, while not enough, would have to serve all the same.

By the 78th, sleep was predicated only upon safety - everything else - comfort, warmth - insofar as it didn't pertain to freezing to death - became tertiary concerns to awaking free from bondage, or even waking up at all. Sleep was a necessity, but one with risk, and preparation for the night involved far more than those who simply had to make a bed, or stoke a fire. For the decent, for the weak, there was little else that could be done, no higher authority to appeal to, no gendarme to safeguard, no lord to hide behind.

For some safety came in numbers, like individuals sharing a common household. They formed clans of the dispossessed, relying if not on the decency of their companions, the knowledge that if they failed to hang together, they would surely hang apart. Watches were stood, or at least, mutual aid rendered when the figurative bigger fish came calling. Others would seek safety in solitude - the darkest corner, the hidden alcove, the inaccessible ledge, before curling up for the evening, knees tucked to chest, secure as they could be under the veil of night.

The smart ones, the ablest ones, did both. Nimble, quick, and small even then, Rukia had learned early to play her strengths. Wedged into a corner, stretched out on rafters, tucked away in a closet - with a rough, dark blanket wrapped around her frame, she was all but invisible to those only looking for an easy mark. Later, when she signed on with Renji's group, the habit shifted only slightly - resting apart from her allies, tucked away in a corner or on a rafter or tree branch, she would watch over them, even as they provided an initial distraction for any would be predators, who didn't expect to suddenly be struck from behind, or at times, above, by thrown bottles or rocks, their attention focused on her friends.

It was just before Seireitei picked them up, though, that she had found her 'ideal' sleeping spot in what had once been an old storehouse that her companions had stumbled upon an annexed, at least temporarily. Her friends had set up in the center of the small warehouse, laying down around a makeshift fire pit, while she had laid her eyes instead upon several stacked, empty wooden crates pushed against a far far wall and just damaged enough to be clear that it was unlikely to contain anything, but big enough - and offering enough cover, that when she climbed into it, she felt safe. Blankets piled two deep, knees hugged to her chest, friends outside, she felt that there, she slept as well as any noble, was as comfortable as she was ever likely to be. Perhaps it was the novelty, perhaps it was naivety, but it was her space - peace, rest, respite. Though the days were hard, the night was easy, and sleep became a just reward.

When she had been admitted into the academy, it was the first time she had ever slept in a real bed. The bunks had been cubbies built into the wall and stacked three high. The narrow confines - just tall enough that most could sit upright or stretch out - though troubling to some of the more well to do recruits felt comforting and reassuring to her. She even managed to get a top bunk without trouble, unable to understand why people would so gladly trade the security of height for the convenience of movement. Curled up in a ball, wrapped in clean cotton sheets (sheets!), she felt there could be little better. Early on, she once said as much when her classmates complained. They had called her a gutter rat.

Though she struggled now to recall her exact words, she knew she answered the insult with her usual level of diplomacy - calling the sons and daughters of nobles 'Pampered Jackasses' didn't endear her to them, and the sniping, the cliques, the attitudes - she came to realize that while she was safer, she was no longer surrounded by friends. Especially after Renji left, advanced to the higher forms. Especially how he left - without so much as a backward glance, and only to condescend and criticize her progress when they would infrequently cross paths. Alone, feeling isolated and abandoned, the was safety and solace in the height and the cramped confines of her bunk, pouring over texts on Kido and technique.

When she became Kuchiki Rukia, sleep changed yet again. A five tatami sleeping room with a silk stuffed futon, pulled from the closet and laid out by servants of the clan every evening after dinner, aired out over the railings every sunny morning by the same before being returned to the closet in the early afternoon, only to be pulled back out in the evening. It seemed a world apart from Ward 78. Plush. Soft. Open. Vulnerable. Terrifying.

The first night there she laid awake, eyes darting back and forth, jumping at shadows and the sound of wind. It felt like the roof had been removed from her world, like a mountain range she had relied upon for direction was suddenly missing. But she had borne it in silence, did not mention her fears, her discomfort, and just curled up in on herself, preferring the heaviest blankets and hiding beneath. Afraid to ask, lest she be shunned, still unknowing as to why a noble had so capriciously offered her shelter, taken her in. Wondering if they would be as fickle as her erstwhile companions, as her classmates. The openness, the unknown - it hardened her in a way, building up her personal armor and walls, her soul of ice, when her real walls, her sense of security, was at an ebb even as she was more secure than she had ever been.

As time when on, as Bayakuya became her adored Ni-Sama, she worried less and less about being cast out and more and more about being a disappointment. Sleeping became just another tool, fuel for the fire in the drive to a personal perfection, a necessary hindrance to be sated and no more. There was no joy in it, no reward. As the years went by, she still slept curled tight, even if she didn't remember the reason why.

Ichigo's closet, in a way, was a happy circumstance for her. Even decades removed, she found hiding there that first night to be surprisingly comfortable, settling in and sleeping well in its enclosed walls. She told herself she felt so refreshed the next day purely because of the exertion the day previous, but it was the same the next, and the next, and the next. And as days turned to weeks, she only felt more comfortable within the confines. A Chappy plush ended up resting from a small ledge along the inner molding of the door-frame next to her soul candy dispenser, and a set of manga and magazines were squirreled away in a corner. Her personal effects hung from nails, or were tucked into an old, oversized gym bag he had gotten from somewhere, which was in turn stored below the main shelf.

Ichigo provided a new, long lasting LED light for her at one point, perhaps a month in to her stay. He had called her a midget, and said it was a good thing she was so small or else she wouldn't be able to fit, and she whacked him on the head. He offered her another futon, the one they kept for guests, but she just called him a perverted fool, accused him of wanting to peek at her, flushed, and slammed the sliding door closed so hard it rocked on its track. She heard him laugh from the other side of the door, even as she hugged her knees to her chest, wondering why she felt so uneasy.

He gave her the touch lamp just before bed the next night - it was flat and round, about the size of his palm spread wide, a central white crystal with an opaque Chappy silhouette at its center surrounded by a plastic pink border, again with white Chappies printed at intervals along it circumference. She attached it with the included adhesive tape to the wall, and when she pressed down on the crystal, it clicked softly and cast her space in a cold, blue tinged light that felt entirely odd to her at first, but made her feel warm inside nonetheless, the lamp his way of saying 'I think you're a crazy girl that lives in my closet, but I support you' in a way that didn't make her feel awkward or unsettled or judged.

She once again slept with a friend watching out for her, even as she watched over him.

As time went on, as battles were fought, as hollows and fullbringers and arrancar and shinigami arrived and were dispatched in kind, she ended up trading her closet for a spare futon in Karin and Yuzu's room at least part of the time. She still stored her stuff in Ichigo's closet, and when she arrived late, or was especially tired, or when she felt unsettled, she sought its comforting confines. Karin and Yuzu figured out the pattern pretty quick, and didn't push the issue - whenever she was there for more than a day, she would come back in the evenings to find the space tidied up a bit, and occasionally one of Yuzu's baked treats or a candy sitting and waiting, like an odd offering to the god of the closet. Her collection of Chappy figures along the door overhang had increased as well, gachapon and candy box prizes now standing next to the plush. She had only bought maybe half of the dozen or so figures - after a long absence, she came back to find six new plastic trinkets added to the ledge - her favorite being a Chappy dressed in a bright yellow rain slicker and hat, holding an umbrella aloft. Ichigo said Karin kept adding them - they had come as prizes in one of the candies she regularly ate, or so she had said. The lamp, though battery powered, never seemed to go dim, either. She later realized Ichigo had been swapping out the batteries - rechargeables, she noted - on a weekly basis.

Even Isshin, in his own, entirely over the top way, had eventually decided to contribute his own bit - when she returned after the battle over the Soul King and the destruction of the Quincy, she had found that the hard wood of the main shelf had been replaced with custom fit tatami, and an appropriately sized shiki-futon and kakifuton made specially for the area. The kakifuton was especially eye catching - Chappy figures embroidered against a pale pink the color of her brother's senbonzakura, the stitchwork impeccable and undeniably Ishida's. A real shelf had also been added, and her collection of plushies and figurines had been shifted over.

It dawned on her as she took in the changes, that no one had questioned that she would return after the battle with Yhwach. They had kept on improving her 'room', assured that she would be back. As she gazed at the small futon and tatami, figures, lights, and a small thermos of hot tea and package of her favorite senbei that Yuzu must have provided (Ichigo said that his sister had left fresh tea there daily - he usually drank it himself), she realized that this was as much her home - as much her family as Bayakua and the rest of the Kuchiki were.

It was perfect, she thought, and when her eyes welled up with tears and and she stifled a sniffle, she was grateful Ichigo loudly - intentionally - proclaiming that 'his dad shouldn't be encouraging a violent midget to be living in his son's closet' and let her hide her embarrassment by whacking him over the head, calling him a fool and slamming the door behind her, though her eyes glistened happily under the light of the Chappy lamp.

The first time she slept outside the closet or the twin's room while staying with the Kurosaki's was about a three months after the final battle with Yhwach - Soul Society had decided to keep her posted there, ostensibly to watch over Ichigo, who now was - in the considered opinion of the new Central 46 - the single greatest possible threat to the continued existence of Soul Society. In her opinion, that was bullshit - both because it was damn near uncontiversable that that he clearly was the single greatest threat to Soul Society - but also because he was only a threat if they made him so. A lot of that would likely depend on how Central 46 chose to act, and the laws they chose to enforce.

Three months on - when she had been staying with the Kurosaki's again for about three weeks straight, had just been getting settled back into her persona of a student for Ichigo's final year of Highschool - she was just drifting off when she thought she heard murmuring, thrashing, a groan and whimper and a defiant cry all at the same time. Sliding her door open, she watched Ichigo thrash around on his own bed, still asleep, but locked in combat with his own remnants of recent days.

She went to him but didn't wake him, just sitting down on the edge of his bed, letting her own reiatsu wash over him, pulsing it gently in time with her own heartbeat. It was a breathing and a control exercise they taught at the academy, used to help new recruits find their center. Later, as an active Shinigami, she learned that medics of the 4th Division used it to help people going into shock or having a breakdown. After being forced to kill Kaien, she dimly remembered the feel of Unohana's spiritual pressure washing over her during the counselling sessions.

The effect was immediate. Ichigo's thrashing slowed, before halting, though he still shivered, his heartbeat leveling off, matching in time to the pulse, matching her own in turn. She padded back to her space, pulling her kakefuton out and wrapping it around herself, before taking post at the end of his bed, back leaning against the wall, continuing the pulses until she too drifted off.

When she awoke the next morning, still wrapped in the blanket, she saw Ichigo staring at her from the other side of the bed. Idly, she wondered how long he had been awake, how long he had been looking at her, and felt self-conscious. Somehow she - or he - had shifted during the night, and she was now sitting on his shins, twin spikes of warmth felt thru her silk comforter.

"Fool." She said, "You were making a such a racket last night I came to check on you." she paused. "Have you had these . . . nightmares a lot?"

He turned his head and looked away, and it was her turn to look at him, his face flushing slightly as he refused to meet her gaze.

"Fool. Ichigo."

"They come and they go. I get through them." he answered, still without looking at her. "Sorry I woke you." He paused, seeming to consider his next words, before she saw the light of resolution in his eyes as he turned to face her, a shit eating grin on his face to cover his discomfort. "Don't worry about me though - you should make sure you get a good night's sleep so you can grow up big and tall. Don't want to be a midget your entire life."

Face flushing in mixed amusement and frustration, she uttered an outraged, if chagrined screech and reached for the nearest thing at hand that wouldn't seriously injure him (bypassing a textbook in favor of a another pillow), and beaned him with it. Or would have, if he hadn't tried to move out of the way in anticipation. As it was, his legs had fallen asleep due to her perch on them, and when he tried to get out of the way, he stumbled and slid to the floor, grabbing the edge of her comforter as he went in a last gasp to prevent the inevitable.

Down he went, and still wrapped up in the blanket, and down she went on top of him, their foreheads meeting with an oddly hollow 'clunk' sound. She rolled off to one side, rubbing her forehead in pain, even as he seemed torn between trying to massage his legs back into life and massage the lump growing on his head.

She bit back a superior smirk as he ended up going for his legs, and she regained her feet first, looming over him, before extending a hand down to help him up.

"You're such a fool, Ichigo." _I'm here. I'll help. Let me help._

He hesitated only fractionally before grasping it and letting her help him to his feet, meeting her gaze. "I know." _Thank you._

The cycle repeated, on and off. 'Fool' She would say. "Midget' he would answer. A night here and there, and hour or so spent pulsing her reiatsu, watching as his breathing fell from panicked to measured, his heartbeat gradually synced up with her own. She started sleeping with the closet door open at times, or pulling her 'midget sized' (his words) futon out into the room when he had an especially bad night. She found she didn't mind.

Even with her help, though, some nights he wound down quickly, others . . . others his terror, the fear she felt radiating from him - she wondered that his father, or his sisters, didn't feel it. His father should have definitely known, and Karin was seeing pluses. Yuzu might not, but still. SO she asked Karin about it while she as she was running the girl through some basic Shinigami Academy katas.

Karin had paused, looked at her with a ' _seriously I can't believe you are asking me this how dumb are you do you know how embarrassing this is for me to say'_ expression before answering in a perfect deadpan: "Of course we felt it. We also felt yours"', before rolling her eyes and getting right back to her next set, as if that explained everything.

In a way, Rukia mused, it did.

While her posting to Karakura was indefinite, she still had to report back to Seireitei in person now and again. She tried to keep them to under a day, to make sure she was back by the evenings, and she usually made it. Even then, the terrors weren't a nightly thing, and seem to have peaked - he was going to counselling, though she wondered just what it was Yoruichi was saying to him that seemed to help. Then again, the Goddess of Flash had been a captain long before she was reborn, and would have seen and dealt with her own share of trauma.

So when Byakuya had asked her to stay over a few days on one of her check ins, she hadn't really hesitated. It had been nice to catch up with her adopted brother, and for the first time, not feel like she was gazing up at him. To be, if not his equal in some ways, worthy of his respect in others with a certainty that she had never had before.

On parting, the Head of Clan Kuchiki had said, "Thank you, sister, for the time you have shared with me. I only lament that our meetings will become less frequent as you progress. and your duties draw you elsewhere. Would that I have spent more time with you, as the brother Hisana had wanted me to be, while you were still in need of it."

His lips had quirked in a rare smile, as if to say he understood something she yet didn't, a reminder that he indeed was the older, wiser brother. She had let a puzzled frown cross her face, before saying that she doubted Seireitei would be making her a Captain anytime soon, and that Karakura was hardly a long journey and she would make sure to visit frequently.

At that, his lips quirked again, and held, before nodding in a self satisfied manner. "See that you do. As your world expands, it wouldn't do to forget that you remain my sister."

She got back late that evening, ghosting through the window, landing without a sound. Looking through the dark room, glancing over at Ichigo's bed, she found it empty, though the sheets had been disturbed. Though late, it was saturday, and was probably out chasing hollows or picking fights. Shrugging, she slipped out and down the hall, down the stairs, following the faint twinges of Chappy's reiatsu, finding her gigai and the soul pill sleeping in front of the television, a Chappy DVD on repeat. Stepping in to the gigai, she pocketed the soul pill before standing up and walking to the kitchen cupboard where Yuzu kept the snacks, pulling out a box of pocky, before starting back up stairs.

Stepping into his bedroom again, she realized why she hadn't seen Ichigo before, and let the pink pocky drop from her mouth as she unsuccessfully stifled a surprised laugh. The closet door was open and in the dim light she could just make out his form, back slouched partially upright against the wall, feet brushing the other end.

She tried hard to keep her laughter inside, to keep the volume down, but she only succeeded at the later effort. With the door closed as it was, she doubted she'd wake anyone else up, but with a muffled snort, the rooms other occupant lurched upwards with a bang as threw his head back from where it had lolled forward, the back of his skull striking the wall.

"Ow godddamit . . ." he muttered, rubbing the back of his head with the other, either in embarrassment or in pain even as his other hand pressed against the Chappy lamp, turning it on. Through her tears of laughter, she noted that it was a seemingly practiced gesture, hand going reflexively to the light without having to feel or look for it.

"Fool," she laughed. "What are you doing?"

He flushed hotly, caught, before answering. "I just wanted to see what was so great about this closet."

"Really?" she said, laughter dying off.

He turned his head before answering, addressing the wall. "And I missed you," He muttered quietly, before continuing on, louder now ". . . and I was right - no one but a midget could be comfortable in a space that small."

She ignored the latter statement, the bluster, in favor of the whisper.

"Ichigo . . ."

He turned to her, half his face cast in shadow, the other half illuminated by the lamp, and flushed as red as she'd ever seen it. But there was a look in his eye she had become quite familiar with over their years together. Determination.

"Yes. I missed you." His voice was low, but solid. "I've never said it, I don't think - and I should have before. I'm glad you're here, Rukia - I'm glad you came back."

"You thought I wouldn't . . ." She started, only to be interrupted as he shook his head.

"No!" He said, still quiet, "No - not now, I mean - that you've come back, that you're still staying here with my family. With me."

She paused at the admission, It wasn't something she hadn't considered. It wasn't like the rumor mill at school hadn't said as much. But at the same time, it wasn't something she had devoted a great deal of thought to.

Mostly, she thought, because she somewhere along the line, it became something that just was.

"Rukia . . ." he said.

She realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Oi. Fool." She stepped towards the closet, tossing the package of pocky onto the desk as she gracefully stepped up onto the shelf-cum-tatami, looming over his form.

"Rukia?"

Without another word, kicked his legs apart, spinning so her back was to him, before settling down in the gap she had just created, and leaned back into his chest. She took his arms, wrapped them around her waist, before switching off the lamp.

"There's your answer, Berry."

She was positive he was glowing incandescent.

"Thanks, Midget."

After that first night, they had switched to his bed - his back had locked up something terrible from the positioning, pretty much freezing in place. They had had to knock him out of his body just to manage to get it out of the closet, and then drag the stiff form down to the clinic for the elder Kurosaki to perform the role unlicensed chiropractor.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading, those that made it this far. And those that didn't make it this far. I promised myself I'd write something before the New Year, and I made it with less than 12 hours to spare. Go me.

I appreciate reviews and constructive criticism. I'm genuinely interested in improving my writing, though towards what end I'll use it for, god only knows. This one shot was meant to be a sort of dialogue lite shake off the dust type thing. I'm not particularly happy with it, and the ending itself was rushed. It definitely felt overly wordy, but I gotta start somewhere.

And if anyone wants to point me toward Ichigo / Rukia fan prompts/contests and the like, I'd be interested in participating.


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